


I can't explain the state that I'm in (The state of my heart)

by yorkisms



Category: Lazer Team (2015)
Genre: Angst, LT Weekly Challenge, M/M, Soulmate AU, mentions of Herman's football injury, soulmate-identifying psychic connections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8141452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yorkisms/pseuds/yorkisms
Summary: ...he was my best friend.
 Or: Sometimes, the thing you're looking for (your soulmate, the one who hears the same music as you) is right in front of you and you just didn't look.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be real, having written most of the fics in the tag for this ship, if anyone's surprised I wanted to do shinguards when handed the prompt "lazer team soulmate au," I don't know who they think I am. 
> 
> The song I intended to convey was The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us! by Sufjan Stevens (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0LahBLSflY8). 
> 
>  
> 
> _Terrible sting and terrible storm_  
>  _I can tell you the day we were born_  
>  _My friend is gone, he ran away_  
>  _I can tell you, I love him each day_  
>  _Though we have sparred, wrestled and raged_  
>  _I can tell you I love him each day._

The subtle notes of piano rising and falling were an ever-present fixture of Anthony Hagan's live from age thirteen onwards.

 Only two people in the world knew those notes, and the other one, well, that was the problem. Knowing (or finding out) who the other one was. Because the other one…well, superstition held that if the song you heard matched someone else, they were your soulmate.

It's the kind of thing you think about in high school.

It's like having a song stuck in your head, but more constant than that- if you get another song stuck in there, the first one, the one that's yours, still plays.

Sometimes it plays louder. It can definitely consume your thoughts if you let yourself drift off and listen to it.

Sometimes it's just loud.

It's loud after practice today- he's sixteen, and his best friend has just thrown a sweaty jersey in his face.

"Eugh. Herman, your jersey stinks."

"Come on, man, you're tuning out."

"Sorry, sorry."

"I was saying, d'you wanna stay at my place tonight. We can study for the history test."

Hagan gives him a look.

"Okay, 'study', but I'm still offering."

"Yeah, sure. You can take me to get my stuff, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Sweet," Herman replies, grabbing the jersey back. "Done."

The piano music pitches up slightly.

( _Onetwothree, onetwothree, one two three, one two three._ )

"What's the test on again?"

"Tony!" Herman groans.

"Whaat?"

\--

That night, it's past midnight when they're done reading history notes and textbooks, because Herman insisted- you can't just pull yourself out of a town like Milford on a sports scholarship alone.

And there's nothing either of them want more than to leave Milford- ideally together, but still.

The television in the living room of Herman's house is snowing softly as Herman hunts for a new channel. Occasionally, the screen will erupt in fuzz- their cable isn't the best, but Hagan much prefers it to staying with his family.

They're decent, he reflects, but they don't much seem to care. There's something magnetic about his best friend that he appreciates.

The piano music, background noise, makes itself known over the television fuzz.

( _One-two-three, threetwoone, one-two-three-two-one-_ )

A TV movie pops on. Herman grins.

"Perfect."

He flops down on the couch next to Hagan.

"You getting tired?"

"Nah."

He is. They both are. Studying is tiring, as usual, practice is tiring and they're both sore to the bone and covered in dried sweat.

But that doesn't matter. The only thing that does is the crappy movie running now on the TV, and that they're there together. They're practically cuddling anyway, and they definitely do once they're asleep, even though they'll deny it in the morning.

They're both so close in thought that they might as well be thinking the same thing: life should be like this forever.

It isn't.

\--

After the game, after Herman doesn't want to see him. After many things, but particularly after Marina, Hagan fools himself, pretends that she hears it too, when he finally hears hers one night after they're together. He doesn't care if it's not his song, anyway, she's five months pregnant and even if it wasn't he'd stay. But he hears what he wants to hear, even though he knows deep down it's not the same.

They're in bed, married three months, and the thought occurs to him. He rolls over to her.

"Marina?"

"Yes?"

"What does your song sound like?"

She pauses, then hums a few bars.

_One…two…three- onetwothree, onetwothree._

Yeah, there's a slow bit of his that can sound like that if you don't want to care. He doesn't want to. It's perfect.

"Is that part of yours?"

He pauses, and decides to tell the truth.

"I don't think so."

She falls silent, and he cautiously puts one hand on her swollen stomach.

"Nobody needs to know if-"

"Forget it," she says.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," she replies softly. "You're right. Nobody needs to know."

"Okay."

She sighs.

"I was hoping-"

"So was I."

Maybe they could have gone on in peace from there if she heard the piano too, but she didn't.

Conventional wisdom would hold that theirs was a relationship intended for a fall. Hagan's not always one to listen to conventional wisdom, but he thinks begrudgingly years later on when he's facing a judge on the topic of their divorce maybe there was something to this soulmate business.

After all- while love will play as it wants, and love will do as it wants, and people will fall for others who can't complete their song- there's got to be some order in the universe.

\--

Meanwhile- Herman's getting sick of the god-damn music. He doesn't know, couldn't say, if anyone else hears the song- _one-two-three-one, one-two-three-one, onetwothree, onetwothree, one two three, one two three_.

Then again, hearing the music and knowing that the person with the corresponding notes might be somewhere far from tiny little Milford, where he's good as stuck, is frustrating and rage-inducing.

For some reason, the more he drinks, the louder it gets- at least, before the Milford High water boy starts following him around like a lost puppy.

Then it's quiet.

Or- it's quiet until after a Friday night game when he's out on the edge of the wilderness with Woody, playing with fire and as usual ignoring the thin notes of piano hanging in the air.

It's quiet until a Milford PD car pulls up in front of them.

( _One-two-two-three, one-two-three-four, one-one-two-three-four, four-three-two-two-three_ )

It's quiet until the car door opens and Herman's oldest worst friend steps out. Herman feels bitterness pool in his chest and resentment, resentment of _god dammit you screwed me, I love you and you screwed me._

He reaches for the fireworks.

( _Four-three-two-two, four-three-two-three, five-five-four-three-two, five-four-three-two-four_ )

It's loudest when the fuse of the largest firework he's ever seen sparks and catches and things change in a millisecond.

( _Five-five-four-three-two…_ )

Boom.

\--

The song is gentle, three months later, when Herman is slouched in one of the seats at Hagan's breakfast counter, watching Hagan cook breakfast. He yawns, then begins to hum to himself.

( _One-two-three-four-three-two-one-one-one-three-two-one-_ )

Hagan stiffens in place.

"What are you humming?"

Herman breaks off.

It seems stupid- idiotic, in retrospect, that they had spent so many years in proximity, almost never apart, and this hadn't come up before. Hagan has a world to question, which gives Herman time to catch up.

"What are you talking about," Herman slurs tiredly, still not completely awake. He lifts his chin off his hand.

Hagan pauses, thinking- and- well--

He tries to be logical and fair, he really does. So it's hard- very hard- to deny that that sounds like the opening bars of the song. His song. Their song?

His first societally conditioned reflex is to think that maybe they're…best friend soulmates. Immediately, his less logical mind shouts back that that's dumb and he knows exactly why this is happening.

Yes- so maybe, he admits to himself, in high school I thought-

In a show of impulsivity he hasn't made in years, he grips the spatula he was using like it's the only thing holding him in place, and hums.

( _Five-four-three-two-three-five-four-four-three-two-three-four._ )

That gets Herman's attention, jolting him awake better than coffee.

"You…"

He shakes his head, clears his throat, and replies.

( _Four-three-two-fourthreetwo-four-four-three-two, three-four-five-five-four-three-two-two-three-four-one._ )

At this point, it almost doesn’t require another confirmation, but Hagan replies anyway.

( _Fouuur, five-four-three-two-three-two, fouur, five-four-three-two-two. Five-four-three-two-two-three-four-two-five-three, five-four-three-two-four-three-two-three-three-two._ )

"You idiot," Herman says, and Hagan blinks.

"Sorry?"

Herman sighs, trying (and admittedly failing) to cover up the fact that he's emotional. Getting a little teary in fact.

"I had the dumbest crush on your painfully straight ass through high school and now you're telling me you _knew_ -"

"Technically, I didn't know."

"I thought that you and her had the same-"

"Divorced, remember?" Hagan replies shortly. "We didn't, clearly."

"You idiot," Herman repeats, now more affectionate. "Draggin' me around all this time-"

"You're acting like I _tried_ to-"

"Tony," Herman says, and the irritation melts away instantly to be replaced by a hot flush and increased heart rate.

"I'm messing with you. Come on, I think she ate your sense of humor."

"That's," Hagan pauses, trying to recover- it's almost as if Herman's noticed that no one but him ever used that name and it makes it Hagan's kryptonite, "Not-- not true."

"Yeah?"

There's a moment that's a mix of anticipation and pure panic.

"Look, I'm not stupid. I know you had it bad for me but you never caught on. Figured you weren't into it when you married her-"

"That's not true," Hagan blurts, before wishing he could shove a _fucking sock_ into his _idiot mouth_ because that's not the kind of thing you admit to in Milford without repercussions he'd rather avoid.

Herman motions for him to come over. He hesitates a moment, but Herman motions again.

"C'mon, Tony, we haven't got all day."

Herman's abuse of the power of that name doesn't dilute its effects in the slightest, or maybe it's so powerful because it's Herman's word. Either way, that command works.

It's when Herman kisses him that Hagan really short circuits.

"You- you-"

"Yeah, I know what I just did. You got a problem with it?"

"No," Hagan says, still dazed slightly. "No- definitely not."

"The opposite?"

"The opposite."

"I was hoping you would say that."

They're still close enough for it to be clearly intimate.

"You were?"

"I've been waiting for you to say that in this situation for about twenty-some years."

"You have?"

"Yeah," Herman says with a slight snort. "I'm sure Woody already knew it-"

"Wait, what?"

"What do you think I'd talk to him about? It's not like I had a life."

"You told him about me and-"

"Not by name," Herman says, rolling his eyes. "I told him not to go and get his heart broken by one of those Milford High jocks if he had to do anything at all."

Hagan flushes. "And, um…have I still broken your heart?"

"What do you think, dumbass."

"You're still a jerk."

"Yeah. And now you're stuck with me forever. How's that feel?"

"Well…"

Hagan pauses, before genuinely letting the corners of his mouth twitch slightly for the first time in so long, so long that Herman is amazed at how foreign the look is- not in a bad way, either.

"Not that bad."


End file.
